


Solace in Winter

by bitterbones (orphan_account)



Category: Winternight Series - Katherine Arden
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, F/M, Post-Battle, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20046013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/bitterbones
Summary: After the battle of Kulikovo, Vasya and Morozko take the Midnight road back to the house in the winter forest. Aching from their wounds and loses, they find solace in one another.Alternatively: Vasya learns a new word. Morozko is... pleased, to say the least.





	Solace in Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilithsaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithsaur/gifts).

> For Lilithsaur, who convinced me to read this amazing trilogy in the first place. 
> 
> I have never written fic for a book before. I must say it was strange, because I've been reading these characters in one voice for so long, and now I'm writing them in my own. I hope it doesn't disappoint/read weirdly. <3

They reached the house in the winter forest. Weary from battle and the Midnight road, they nursed each other’s hurts in the dark, a fire roaring in the stove. Morozko’s healing was done with his water, Vasya’s with whispered words and the brush of her lips over his pale flesh. Cold under her mouth, he had never known such anguish as the battle Kulikovo. It was his love for her that had opened his inhuman heart to such emotion and she felt no guilt for it; but still she sought to ease his pain, for she loved him; her winter-king. 

Stripped bare and scrubbed clean of grit and blood, a smattering of new silvery-white scars dotted her flesh. Morozko took the time to brush his handsome mouth over each one before he rose from the scalding water of the tub, naked, and carried Vasya with him to the bed piled high with dark blankets and furs. No longer might it have been a snowdrift, for her mind knew now how to hold on to this magic. She remembered awakening in that very bed once, in a time that felt ages passed. She had been afraid then, wary of the dark stranger who nursed her hurts yet spoke so indirectly. A convent had awaited her outside his door, or death in the brutal winter. Snowdrops on the table, a bear, blood on the snow. All of it so long ago, yet not two years gone. 

That time had never felt more far distant. Vasya had just saved all of Rus’, had united it’s people and saved the chyerti. Yet it had cost her so. She looked at her hands, scarred from years of offerings. 

As if reading her mind Morozko whispered from over her, his lean thighs straddling her own, “And now you are the winter-queen, as well. A woman of many titles, all earned.” 

Vasya smiled remembering the awed whispers of the people in the midnight village; _Zimnyaya Koroleva_ they had said. Winter-queen, wife to the winter-king, yet as he had said, she was so much more. 

Movement before her brought her back from the memory, and she found her king working his length in long, steady strokes with a loose fist. Head cocked to the side, his colorless eyes watched her curiously. 

At her silence he offered, “We do not have to, I only thought-

“I want to.” She said quickly. Her hesitation only came from her inexperience. The bathhouse in his prison had been so dark, and their coupling so desperate. She had not the time to look on his body for long. Certainly her lips and fingers had learned him, but not her eyes. 

Now he knelt over her, and she found herself dumbstruck at his alien beauty. It was unnatural, a small, terrified part of her shrieked, to look upon death with such want. This body was that of death made flesh; cold as fresh fallen snow, pale and ancient. Her desire, raw and hot, out weighed her fear. Raven curls and eyes like frost. His curved lips parted as he touched himself, touched his… 

A priest might have referred to it, scandalized, as his _manhood_. The word rang ridiculous in Vasya’s ears, but she had no other vocabulary. Women were not afforded such educations, and the chertyi that had taught her the ways of men knew not of their anatomy.

Boldly, she reached out with a steady hand, and Morozko, understanding, let his own drop. 

It bounced a bit but remained rigid, pointing at her even without his hand there to support it. She scowled as her fingertips brushed the velvet flesh of it, turgid and pulsing a bit. It should have been hot. It even looked flush, angry at the slitted tip, but like all of her winter-king his _thing_ was chill. 

“My blood is cold.” He offered by way of poor explanation. What did blood have to do with any of this?

“The word I was taught for this is foolish.” She explained, half closing her fingers around it, “Have you another?” 

He smiled and huffed with pleasure at the same moment, “The crude term would be ‘cock’, it is also the one I prefer you use. The rest are strange.” He leaned forward to let his lips brush her forehead, “Your hand is very warm, _Snegurochka_.” He was panting.

Vasya tried her best to emulate his earlier twisting strokes, and found he would huff when she squeezed just under the swollen head of it. She swallowed, watching entranced as a clear fluid beaded at the slit. This thing, swollen and thick in her palm, had been inside of her, “_Cock_.” She echoed with some small wonder. It pulsed in her palm and Morozko hummed at the sound of that word on her lips. 

Suddenly she was very warm below, fire in her loins, and damp. She had grown tired of looking and touching. Vasya remembered the stretch of him, the way the ache eased with each jerk of his lean body over her, _under her_. She wanted him inside again. 

Dropping him, she sat up, muscles aching still from the battle won, and pulled him into a fierce kiss. His cock was trapped leaking between their stomachs as he leaned into her, groaning into her mouth. His hands knew her body well, even after such a short time, and caressed her accordingly; buttocks, back, the flat plane of her stomach, her small breasts. It was when the winter-king’s graceful fingers found her jaw that he broke their kiss, holding her face mere inches from his own.

Lips kiss swollen and eyes glassy with want Vasya gripped his muscle corded forearm and whispered into the icy air between them, “I want your _cock_ inside of me.” 

Something behind Morozko’s cool, controlled eyes shattered at her words and he thrust her back into the blankets and furs, all dusted with snow. Outside, beyond the warm daub walls of the cottage, Vasya could hear the wind roaring with his desire, cracking in the tree branches, smattering ice against the windows. 

“Vasya,” he came to crouch over her, his mouth speaking into her hair, “You learn quickly.” 

Vasya wound her wiry arms around his shoulders and pressed her face to his shoulder. Between them she could feel a careful hand aligning himself with her; “Please, _gosudar_, I would have— ah!"

Her words were lost as he canted his hips and slid home in a single thrust. Morozoko wasted no time, eyes wide and wild with something inhuman, his narrow hips slapped wetly against hers. Vasya let out a gasping breath at the sweet relief, the friction of his cock steadily pounding into her. 

The previous two times he hadn't been nearly so forceful, for she had asked for tenderness. But on this night they both ached from battle and loss. They were both eager and needy for a hasty, explosive release. Morozko wanted to feel his mortal love alive and writhing in his arms. Vasya simply yearned for sensation, for proof that her love had not faded, and proof that she had not perished in the fighting. 

Groaning, he pressed his mouth to hers shifting his body so that he could better leverage himself into her. One hand clutched the small of her back as he pulled out to the tip then rocked forward again. Vasya bit her lip to contain a wail of ecstacy. In his eyes she caught a glimpse of a younger winter-king, the one she had met in midnight, his eyes overflowing with confidence and pride and _lust_. 

Vasya remembered their duel, his youthful bravado, and goaded him; nails raking the rolling muscles of his back, "You feel so good, my king, yet I do not feel your _cock_ so deeply as I did in midnight. Has your— _hah_— prowess fled you since your youth?" Each word was jolted by the increasing ferocity of his thrusts, silently he rose to her challenge. 

Grunting, face lined with concentration, he rose up over her, arms tense as he rocked himself into her. Vasya shut her eyes and let loose a mighty moan, hands sliding up his biceps. Each thrust of his cock into her rattled her teeth, she was helpless but to lay and receive what he gave. 

She was nearly there, thighs wet and quivering. His thrusts were so forceful she had begun to slide up the massive bed. Feeling her beginning to tense beneath him, around him, Morozko slid a hand between their bodies, deft fingers finding a sensitive spot in her folds, just above where his cock worked in and out of her. 

Vasya could no longer contain her cry of delirious pleasure. Fire jumped at her fingertips and her vision whited, her whole world narrowing down to the point of raw sensation where he took her. Then he was finishing too, with a strangled half gasp of _Vasya_. Outside the wind howled and the trees groaned. She felt a rush of cold and wet between her thighs, and whimpered, grateful that she could experience such an oddly satisfying sensation without concern. For the winter-king was not a man. 

Morozko, finally regaining his wits, rolled to the side pulling Vasya with him so she might lay across his chest. 

"I will have to teach you more words," he smiled at her where she rested her head on his pec, "So you might drive me half mad with lust again."

Smirking she traced unseen patterns into his skin. He was dry. Cold things did not sweat, she supposed. 

"It already feels as though Kulikovo was ages ago," she finally said, "But it was just this morning." 

"We take solace in each other, beloved, for not all of our hurts are yet healed." He pushed a strand of sweat damp hair from her forehead, then kissed where it had touched her skin. 

She nodded in agreement with his words, then chose to forget again. Surely she would remember in her dreams, but for now she would play with her love. A moment of reprieve from the lingering darkness. 

"Next time you will teach me the crude word for _my_ parts." 

Morozko grinned and kissed her mouth, his cool touch raising goose flesh over her skin. She hardly cared. He was her winter-king, her solace, and she loved him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope ya liked it!! I have one more one-shot idea for these two. Keep an eye out for it!
> 
> Kudos and comments feed the soul <3


End file.
